Everybody Join My Party
by jackqueenking
Summary: Bella's primary concern is student politics. Edward's appears to be sex. Hmm. One or two lemons, maybe. Let's just call it marmalade.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer, disclaimer. Yesterday I had one reader - ONE! - and I suspect it was me. Onanist. So I'm going to post whatever disordered ramblings I come up with and then I'll read them myself. Yes.

Everybody Join My Party - 1 -

It was at a party at Tyler's where I originally met him. Remember - when Tyler's parents were out of town for the weekend and as soon as they had left for the airport he and the la Push guys painted his whole basement black on the Saturday, and then they painted it back to white the next day?

The fumes nearly killed us all, but he had big industrial fans blowing, and everyone got so messed up on mushrooms that they didn't care. That party was legendary. His parents wanted to ground him - but the pictures on facebook definitely showed a bunch of people getting down and grooving in a black room. Even though the basement reeked, they couldn't pin it on him.

And me, I was working the space, because the student council election was coming up. I needed to know what the people on campus thought about the relevant issues, and here was a concentration of voters, temporarily captive. It seemed a good idea, at first.

In retrospect, it wasn't practical attempting actual political discussions and vote-canvassing with people who thought they were in the presence of winged apples and talking cushions and that the walls were alive.

"I've compiled a list of matters that are considered concerns, and I'd really like to know your views about them. Could you number them from one to ten in order of importance to you? There's space at the end for comments. And you can sign up to my mailing list, and get regular updates as to what I'm doing for you. Thanks so much."

"Can you hear that, dude? Not the music - underneath the music. That breathing sound? Fuck - I never knew bricks could breath, fuck."

I didn't have any of the mushroom muffins because I don't like them. Alternate realities and muddled faculties aren't my thing. An hour or so after the muffins appeared, clarity was beginning to diminish at an alarming rate. Responses started off intelligible, and over the course of the next hour or two became increasingly bizarre, and people were taking my questionnaires to write furious stream-of-consciousness eulogies and diatribes, or to draw pictures.

"It's a self-portrait. You must be able to see that. But it's an extreme close-up. A single eyelash. There's never been anything like this before."

And once not many people were making any sense I arrived at the side of a stranger.

"Are you just as out of it as everyone else here?" I asked, sitting in the space next to him.

"That depends."

"Well, I'll give you my spiel, you respond however you like, and I'll move on."

"That depends, too."

"I'm sorry?"

"Whether you move on or not surely depends on my response."

"Oh. I guess so. Well, I'm standing for student council and I'm trying to gauge the general feeling about various things that I think are points of interest. I've got a list."

"You've got some points of interest yourself. I could start my own list."

He was either hitting on me and predictable, or hitting on me and intriguing. Probably the former, but I decided to plough on regardless.

"What do you think about the travel concessions?"

"I'm all for concessions. Do you concede?"

I put my clipboard down and scowled at him. I was by no means out of it, but I'd had three vodka jellies - enough that I continued to scowl, even with him looking steadily back at me. Most of the people at the party were people I knew either by sight, or fairly well - I'd attended dance class when I was five years old at the same ballet studio as all the girls there - but this guy was a total stranger. The face-off continued until his eyes were practically swimming in my vision.

"Are you taking me seriously or not?"

"Let me ask you the same thing."

"Stop being so - I don't know - what are you being? You're dismissing my questions and undermining me."

For a second he looked surprised. "Ask me something else, then."

"Do you think membership of the students' union should be compulsory?"

"You really want to know what I think? I think you've picked absolutely the wrong venue to conduct your quiz, your Miss Perky and Earnest act is pointless right now, and you should abandon it and either have a real conversation with me, or leave with me. My preference would be both, but I'm happy with either."

Three vodka jellies. "Oh, I _do_ know what you're being. The word just came to me. Objectionable."

I got up and made my way to the kitchenette, filling a glass of the water from the tap, and leaning against the countertop with a sigh. Of course it was a stupid idea trying to talk student politics at a party - but a lot of the student body was here. Before they'd all gotten too wasted, things had been going fine.

"Hey," a voice said, so close to me I jumped. I opened my eyes. Him.

"I'm not objectionable," he said. "Oh, wait a minute. If you wanted to objectify me, that would be fine."

"Did I say objectionable? I meant _obnoxious_," I answered, and went to push past him.

"Maybe I'm an unreconstructed prick," he smirked down at me.

"_Maybe?_"

Loser.

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Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Anyone seen Anna and the King? Oh, I'm talking to myself. No, I haven't - was it good? I don't know.


	2. Chapter 2

Everybody Join My Party

Um. 2? I lose track...

The next weekend there was a rally organized, and all the candidates had stalls. Tyler had put up posters for me and distributed flyers, and had printed out sheets of speeches I'd yet to give, with policies I was planning to promise. I was flat out from the second I got there, talking, nodding, listening, taking notes.

"My position on PDA's on campus between gay couples? I absolutely approve. It's ridiculous that anybody should have a problem with that."

"Do you have a position on positions?" someone asked, when I had my head down.

I looked up with a flash of irritation, to see Party-boy. There were several people standing behind him.

"If you have something specific you'd like me to address, I suggest you fill out this form. I'm sorry I'm not going to have the time to answer your query immediately. Or you could speak to my campaign assistant." With a tilt of my head, I indicated Tyler.

I didn't even know this guy's name, and I didn't want to. He couldn't seem to say anything that wasn't laden with innuendo, and I like men to be a little more subtle and a lot more smart. In the barely-lit black room last weekend I hadn't really been able to see him, and now I saw that he was scruffy, unshaven, and arrogant, which meant his looks fitted his voice and attitude. Some girls might find that whole package attractive, and everything about him suggested that it had worked for him in the past, but it wasn't going to work on me.

"How do you expect me to vote for you if you don't have the time to pay attention to my concerns?" he queried.

"Here's the form. Here's a pen. I'll get around to reading your submission in due course," I answered politely, already looking past him to the next person in the line. When I looked through the papers later, I knew instantly which was his. All bar one had questions and comments about courses, campus, committees, whatever. One had a phone number, and the words, "You need a new publicity shot. Call me. Edward Cullen."

Edward Cullen? I googled him. To my surprise he had a substantial internet profile as a photographer who'd had his first exhibition at the age of eleven. His first book had been published when he was fifteen, his second at seventeen. All portraits. I clicked on to image after image, and saw the work of a truly gifted artist. Perhaps also, a somewhat haunted one. The first book contained pictures of children - big-eyes, smiling, laughing, and sometimes crying, and the captions advised that all these kids were sick. They were all in hospital. The second book was old people - again, all in hospital. What was Edward Cullen doing, roaming wards, taking snaps of the doomed?

He was right though - I could do with a better picture. I wasn't photogenic in the slightest, and Tyler had taken dozens of photos that we'd browsed through with ever-increasing despair.

"Sorry to say this, Bella - you look like an axe-murderer in every single one," Tyler had lamented. "Lucky you've got a nice personality and you're way more attractive in the flesh, because you're not winning anyone over with these posters."

"Thanks _so much_, Tyler."

I wasn't about to resort to calling Party Boy though.

Then I got the email. There were several attachments, all pictures of me from that day at the rally, speaking on the stage, standing in front of my stall smiling, writing and frowning with concentration, sitting with my chin in my hand staring into the middle distance. They were all flattering, some could even be considered striking. Party-boy had a gift. However, each of them was watermarked straight across my face, and therefore unusable.

"You can have these for a price," the message read. "Contact me and I'll tell you my terms." He had a gift, and it wasn't just artistic. Apparently, he wasn't stupid.

I ignored his message, and the campaign heated up. My chief opponent was Rosalie Hale, a cheerleader with no scruples, no principles, golden hair down to her ass and legs halfway to Venus. Her slogan was, "I'll deliver what _you_ want," and her poster looked like she was about to deliver oral sex. I was campaigning on a platform of integrity, accountability and commitment. Rosalie Hale was competing on a platform of micro-mini skirts, push-up bras, and lip-gloss. According to the polls, she was ahead of me.

Another email arrived a couple of days later, with more photos. Me in the coffee shop, in animated discussion, face lively and sincere. Me leaning against the doorway of the lecture theatre, grinning at a passerby, hair tucked behind my ears. Me crouching down, one leg bent, eye-to-eye with a toddler in the park, handing back a ball the child had dropped.

Rosalie Hale's next run of flyers had her posing with the football team, in her high-heels. Most of them were visibly drooling, gazing up at her ever-open mouth, or blatantly at her chest.

"Don't worry about it, Bella, she's a skank. No-one cares about her," Tyler said, but the polls didn't agree. Rosalie was photographed at a karaoke bar, singing the national anthem, and apparently her voice was awful, but not her performance. She'd hardly worn anything. She'd won the two hundred dollar karaoke prize for the evening.

"Yeah, so some guys look at her. That doesn't mean they'll vote for her. Give us all a break - we're not that shallow!" Tyler said, but the polls weren't agreeing.

A third email from Edward Cullen, with a single picture of me looking directly at the lens, friendly, relaxed and smiling. I don't know how the hell he'd gotten it. It was perfect.

"All right, I want to use your photo. Can I have permission?" I snapped over the phone.

"Certainly. We need to meet to discuss it," he said.

"No, we don't. We're discussing it now."

"We'll discuss it in half an hour." He gave me an address and ended the call, leaving me staring at the phone, annoyed. Who did he think he was? And who did he think he was dealing with?

The address was in a nice part of town, and it was half an hour's drive away. I did a quick google search and it was an apartment in a complex upstairs from a restaurant. I didn't even know if I should go through with this on my own, or get Tyler to come with me. Edward Cullen was a fellow student, a year ahead of me - but what did I actually know about him? Next to nothing. I called him back.

"I'm not meeting you there. I'll meet you somewhere public," I said as soon as he answered. Then I named a cafe, and hung up without giving him the chance to reply. I'd chosen somewhere a little closer, so that I could flee the scene if I needed to. Wearing no make-up, without even brushing my hair, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, I headed out.

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Into the wild. No turning back.


	3. Chapter 3

I plan to update weakly

Everybody Join My Party - 3 -

It was only a matter of a two or three minute wait before Edward turned up and he was as down-market as ever, although those jeans he was wearing... the cut was, well flattering, you could say. He was such a show-pony - unkempt and chiseled and six-foot plus.

"Coffee?" he asked, sliding into the seat opposite me, and I shrugged.

"I've already ordered."

"Let me guess - white, strong and not too sweet? I hope that's how you like your men."

I wasn't even going to dignify that remark with a response. "About your pictures..."

"Uh-huh. You're the sort who wants to get straight down to business, hmm? No preliminaries? Useful to know - I'll file that away."

He had a manila folder with him and he opened it, pulling photographs out and arraying them on the table. Every single one was a shot of me. It was exhilarating and creepy at the same time. They were all from after the party, I could see that from the clothes I was wearing, and the settings. What I couldn't begin to guess at was why on earth he should be watching me, and why he was taking pictures.

"What's this about?" I asked abruptly. "Or don't I want to know?"

He slouched back in his chair, smile lazy but eyes intense.

"Isabella Swan. Take them all. They're yours. No fee, no strings attached. Good luck with your campaign, and let me know if I can help you in any way. I'm pretty handy with art software, and I can throw together much better promo material than what you've had so far."

"I don't understand." Party-boy, explain yourself.

"You don't need to."

I leaned across the table, unwilling to put up with any nonsense. This weirdo had been hanging around places I'd been, not showing himself, and photographing me. And now he was offering me images of myself, to use as promotional material free of charge. There had to a catch, and I didn't trust him in the slightest.

"You think I'm going to use these? I'll tell you what. You're clearly a stalker. So, _no_. And leave me alone."

I stood up.

He rose too, placing a hand on my arm.

"Fuck. Don't go. Have these. I mean it. I'll send you the files and delete them from my drive. This has all gone really wrong. I wanted to find a way to talk to you and I thought these pictures would be an angle. I'm sorry. I've obviously come across as sinister, and that's not it at all. I have a fucking stupid mouth and a fucking stupid attitude, but won't you at least stay for coffee?"

I glared down pointedly at his hand, which he removed straight away. The waitress chose that inopportune moment to bring the coffee, which I would have left without drinking, just to get away from him. One hot drink. Ten minutes? Then go.

I sat down, and his posture changed, as though he'd been tense all over.

"Can we start again? I'm Edward Cullen. I'm new in town. Moved here from Chicago and got my credits transferred across so I don't have to start again. I was invited to that party by someone in one of my tutorials, and that was really kind of them, because I didn't really know anyone here yet. It threw me a bit that you came up and spoke to me. I had no fucking idea whatsoever what you were talking about, but something made me want to ruffle your feathers. You called me out on it. You were right."

I frowned.

"And anyway, I'm in the habit of taking pictures. I'm captivated by faces - all faces. I've never seen a face I don't find intriguing - even when it's expressionless. I want to document them, it's a compulsion I've had since childhood. I know I didn't get your permission to take pictures of you, but then I find candid and unaware shots every bit as powerful as posed and knowing portraits. I would love to have you sit for me. You have a compelling duality. Without wanting to blow my own trumpet, I've had a couple of books published where I explore dualities - children who appear aeons old, and seniors whose faces are alive with youthfulness. You're a contradiction. You appear private and yet open. Guarded but friendly. The sociable introvert. I wanted to capture the essence of that dichotomy."

My coffee grew cold as I listened. He was a walking cliche but he had revealed the sensibility of an artist - if this whole "essence of the dichotomy" business was genuine. He could just be playing me.

"Actually, there's something I've always wanted to do. Glamor shots," I said, to test him. "But not trashy - subtle. Where the viewer doesn't actually see anything revealed, but they know the subject is naked."

He sighed, and looked across the room. "You'd have to go elsewhere for that sort of thing. When I say portraits I mean faces."

"What about the dichotomy? The contradiction? Like, the shy seductress? I'm talking about tasteful, not pornographic. Artistic renditions of the female form as both innocent and worldly. You know?"

He spoke slowly and carefully. "You're perfectly aware that harboring political ambitions as you do, you couldn't pose for shots like that without seriously compromising yourself. You're too clever to even contemplate such a backfire, therefore you're saying this just to be provocative. That's not fair. I laid my cards out, I admitted I was a creep, and instead of accepting my contrition with any goodwill or grace you're winding me up. So I guess that concludes our conversation."

Well, damn. I'd expected him to start salivating at my proposition, and then I would have shot him down. But I'd misjudged him, and misread his intentions. And he'd shot _me_ down instead.

"Right. I guess it does," I answered. "Conversation concluded."

Top marks, Party-boy. Bella Swan - fail.

I stalked out of there, photos left lying on the table. Hadn't even drunk the hot, white, and not too sweet coffee.

And Rosalie Hale won the election to become leader of the student's representative body. She would do no good at all. She didn't even know what a representative body _was_, other than her own.

Damn.

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There's a girl who says I've left her at the altar, but it wasn't intentional. I didn't even know she was there. I'm not surprised. Sometimes even on bright days you're a little cloudy.


	4. Chapter 4

I disclaim all.

Everybody Join My Party - 4 -

Weeks came and went and I saw Edward Cullen now and again, across the quadrangle or in the cafeteria, but we didn't exchange so much as a glance.

One or two stories began to circulate about him. One or two dozen, that is. He was dating this girl, or that girl, who claimed he had clever fingers and a skilful tongue and that he could fuck for the Olympics. _All night!_ the stories said. _Again and again! _

It didn't matter to me. I accepted invitations from Alex Garrett, who was in the water hockey team. First date, a movie, a quiet goodnight. Second date, dinner, some kissing. Third date -

We were at the gate back to the student's quarters and I was out of breath and really worked up because I had one hundred-eighty pounds of solid man pressed up against me with his hands tight at my hips and his tongue in my mouth. But this was going to be the extent of our relationship, I already knew. He was passing with B's, which unfortunately made him an unsuitable prospect. I had to be careful about who I dated, because it would impact on what people thought of me. If I was with someone officially, they'd have to be a high achiever, not a middling one. An academically middling boyfriend just wouldn't fit into how I perceived myself, and how I wanted to be perceived.

"Alex, this has been really fun, but I don't think we should see each other again," I told him, when his mouth left mine to explore my throat.

"Uh?" he said, hands gripping my ass. "Excuse me, but aren't you grinding on me right now?"

"Yeah." He felt really good. "Can we go back to your place?"

Alex's brain wasn't composed entirely of muscle, apparently. He was doing some processing. "You've just said you don't want to go out with me again, but you wanna fool around?"

Oh, yes, I wanted to fool around all right. He was hot, he was hard, and I was horny.

"That doesn't work for me. I can't do it. I can't take you to bed knowing that when we've finished you're going to give me the flick."

Apparently years ago, guys had no feelings and they weren't sensitive, and they would have sex with a girl and not expect to have follow-ups. Alex clearly wasn't taking part in a history module.

We straightened our clothes and he offered to walk me back to the block I lived in, but his reluctance was so apparent that I said no. We wished each other goodnight in impersonal tones.

I wasn't ready to go back to my room yet, I needed to be somewhere other people could drown out the inner monologue which was berating me for what had been an ill-timed admission. If I'd kept my mouth shut back then I would have been getting laid right now, and I could have broken the bad news in the morning.

Beans, the Campus cafe, was jumping. Disjointed phrases of conversation leapt out of the general noise, amongst laughter and music. Perfect. Debating whether to call Tyler and ask him to meet me, I suddenly spied Edward Cullen at a corner table, sitting on his own. So Bella had missed out on good times tonight? Edward Cullen would definitely be up for some good times, if all the rumors were true. Good times were what he was all about, and he didn't hang around for days afterwards like a puppy-dog, wanting you to love him. Furthermore, he didn't kiss and tell. All the stories about him had come from girls. I walked over and stood by his table, until he glanced up.

He looked surprised, but recovered quickly.

"Well, hello there," he drawled. "The tasteful Bella Swan."

"You got me pegged," I nodded. "What are you doing in here this evening, all alone?"

"What are _you_ doing here? No speeches to write?"

"I've had a _date_, actually."

"Oh, really? Who with?"

"No-one you know. We had a great time."

"Why are you in here, then?"

"He's just dropped me off and I didn't feel like going to bed yet."

"You didn't feel like going to bed? Maybe that's why he dropped you off."

I'd forgotten quite how smug and annoying he was. "He's a gentleman, and he respects me," I stated.

At this, Edward snorted. "He's a castrato. All men want sex."

"Oh, he's _not_ a castrato."

"There's only one way you could know that for sure. So why are you back so early? Was he a three-minute wonder? Did he have to go home to his wife and children?"

Oh yes, I'd forgotten. So kind of him to remind me. "Are you always this offensive?"

"I'll leave you to work out the answer to that on your own."

Gazing quickly around the room, I knew everyone in there, and they were all on the spectrum of boring to a greater or lesser degree. I didn't feel like talking to any of them. Edward was the only real source of entertainment on offer.

"I could beat you at backgammon," I told him, throwing down the gauntlet.

"You think so? How about a little wager?"

"Name the stakes."

His eyes gleamed. They were really very pretty. "Oh, I think I'll tell you _after_ I win."

"Come on now, Edward. Are you really going to do this again? Put yourself in the position where you have to apologize to me for being suggestive and a creep just because you're actually suggestive and a creep? Why don't you spend an hour pretending to be a decent human being?"

"Jesus, that's a big ask."

He found a board and we set it up, because I just wasn't in the state of mind where I could go back to my room and try to sleep. We started off, and the first time he put one of my pieces on the centre board I kicked him under the table, though not too hard. He blinked and grunted, but he didn't say anything. The next time it happened I kicked him again.

"Will you stop assaulting me?" he asked.

"Will you stop taking my counters off the board?" I answered.

"That's how the game goes, baby."

"Well, this is how _I_ go. Baby."

He snorted. "Oh, really? I fucking knew you weren't the Miss Prim and Proper you like making yourself out to be for your discerning voters. You might be fooling them - but you're not fooling me. I knew you'd be a firecracker."

He was way ahead. I was way pissed. "A _firecracker_?" I picked up one of his counters and put it in my mouth, daring him.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," he breathed at me. "Put that down."

"Come here and get it."

He said, "Do you know what you're doing?" but he was already across the table. He opened my mouth with his fingers and scooped the counter out, although I tried to bite him, then his lips were on mine immediately, his tongue delving in as though he thought he'd find his backgammon piece still there. This was so hot, and with electrifying potential - but we were surrounded by other students, in a reasonably well-lit place. Things could go no further.

I sat back down, waiting to see what he'd say and do next, wondering if I could endure two frustrating episodes in one night, wondering if I could bear to proposition him if he just smirked at me and announced he was leaving.

I needn't have worried.

"Come home with me," he muttered.

"Why would I?"

"You want me to fuck you. That's why you're being such a bitch." He was absolutely right, but there was no need to make things easy for him.

"Oh, I'm a bitch? Aren't you an unreconstructed prick?" I countered. "I seem to remember you mentioning it."

"Bella," he answered with a groan. "I meant I'm uncut. Do you want to play?"

I blinked. I coughed and swallowed and blushed. I'd never seen an uncut guy before. I could have demanded he pull his pants down then and there - I was so excited by his admission.

"Mmm, let me have a think about it," I said, outwardly cool, inwardly burning.

He wasn't smirking now. He ran a hand through his hair, which stuck up on end, and leaned towards me.

"Bella, I'll make you feel good," he said. "Trust me. I'm a man of my word."

Oh, _are _you, Edward Cullen?

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Here we go, here we go, here we go. Incense and apricot, chili-pepper nutmeg.


End file.
